The morning began like any other — grey sky, sharp wind, the familiar rhythm of the city pulling itself awake. But for Amelia, the sound of her alarm felt like a summons to battle.
She sat at the edge of her bed, coffee untouched, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The blue of her eyes looked almost too bright against the quiet panic in her chest.
"You're fine," she whispered. "It's just work."
She chose her clothes carefully — a navy dress, fitted but modest, her hair pinned in soft waves. Professional, poised, untouchable. If she could look like control, maybe she'd feel like it too.
By the time she stepped into the Harrington & Co. building, the lobby was alive with chatter, coffee cups, and the echo of footsteps on marble floors. She swiped her badge, walked through the glass doors, and breathed in the familiar scent of coffee and ambition.
No one looked at her twice. That should have been a relief. Instead, it felt strangely disappointing.
Upstairs, Alexander had been in since seven.
The blinds in his office were half drawn, the light catching the edge of his suit — charcoal, sharp, immaculate. He'd reviewed three reports and remembered nothing in them.
Every time he looked up, he saw New York.
Her face.
The moment before she'd stepped out of his car at the airport, her hand slipping away from his like something precious he had no right to keep.
A soft knock broke the silence.
"Come in," he said, without looking up.
"Morning, sir."
He froze. The pen in his hand stopped mid-word.
When he looked up, she was standing in the doorway, holding a folder to her chest — composed, polite, heartbreakingly familiar.
"Good morning, Miss Clarke," he managed.
"Ms. Hughes asked me to bring the post-flight reports," she said, her voice calm. "I thought I'd deliver them personally."
He rose slightly, nodding. "Thank you."
Their eyes met for one second too long. She broke the connection first, setting the folder down.
"Will that be all, Mr. Harrington?"
He hesitated. "For now."
She nodded and turned to leave.
"Amelia," he said suddenly.
She froze. The sound of her name in his voice made the air change.
"Yes?"
He opened his mouth to say something — he didn't know what — but the door swung open again.
"Alexander," Margaret said briskly, stepping in. "I hope you've seen the updated schedules. We've got a full house this morning."
Amelia gave a small, professional smile. "I'll leave you to it."
And she was gone, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air long after the door closed.
The morning dragged. Every meeting blurred into the next. He saw her only in fragments — passing through the hall, laughing softly with a colleague, her hair catching the light. Each glimpse was worse than the last.
By noon, he'd stopped pretending to focus. He sent a short message to her inbox:
From: A. Harrington
Subject: Debrief
2:30 in my office.
Just work. That's what he told himself.
She spent lunch hiding in the small café across the street, stirring her tea and reading the message again and again.
"Debrief," she muttered under her breath. "Right."
Emma had texted her earlier — How's Monday? — but she couldn't bring herself to reply.
At 2:25, she straightened her blazer, took a deep breath, and walked back upstairs.
He was waiting by the window when she entered, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. The city stretched behind him, a river of rain and glass.
"Close the door," he said quietly.
She did. The click of it closing sounded louder than it should have.
"Sit down."
She obeyed, setting her notebook on the desk like a shield.
"I wanted to talk about the New York trip," he began.
"Of course," she said. "The reports are—"
"Not the reports."
Her heart gave one hard, traitorous beat.
He moved closer, leaning against the edge of his desk, arms crossed. "We can't keep pretending nothing happened."
She looked up at him, every nerve alert. "We have to. You're my boss. Everyone's watching."
"Let them watch," he said, voice low but steady. "They'll see two people who work well together. That's all."
"You don't believe that," she whispered.
He gave a faint, tired smile. "No. I believe I've spent two days pretending I don't want to touch you every time you walk past me."
The honesty of it hit her like a rush of wind. She stood, crossing her arms as if to defend herself. "Alexander, this will ruin me."
"I won't let it."
"You can't protect me from gossip. From the company. From yourself."
He exhaled, took a slow step closer. "Then tell me to stop."
She should have. She wanted to. But instead, her voice came out barely audible.
"I can't."
That was all it took.
He reached for her hand, pulling her gently toward him. The kiss came like gravity — inevitable, slow, consuming. It was nothing like the ones in New York; it carried the ache of everything they couldn't say.
When they broke apart, she pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammering under her palm.
"This isn't sustainable," she whispered.
"I know."
"Then what are we doing?"
He met her eyes, the smallest trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
"Something I can't seem to stop."
She shook her head, half laughing, half trembling. "You're impossible."
"So are you."
The rain outside thickened, streaking the windows. Neither of them moved for a long time.
Finally, she straightened, forcing herself back to reality. "I should go. People will notice."
He nodded but caught her hand before she could pull away. "You know what's strange?"
"What?"
"For the first time in my life, I don't care who notices."
She didn't answer — couldn't. She turned, opened the door, and stepped back into the corridor, her pulse racing, her heart already lost.
Behind her, Alexander stood at his desk, watching the door close.
He had meetings to attend, calls to make, a reputation to maintain.
But none of it seemed to matter anymore.
Because somehow, in a world built on logic and control, Amelia Clarke had become the only thing that felt real.
The rest of the afternoon unfolded like a dream she wasn't sure she should be having.
Amelia sat at her desk, staring at the same spreadsheet for ten minutes without seeing a single number. The office buzzed around her — phones ringing, printers humming, colleagues trading jokes she didn't hear.
Every sound felt distant, as if she were underwater.
She touched her lips once, quickly, as though to make sure it had really happened.
It had.
Her pulse hadn't calmed since.
A message pinged on her screen.
From: A. Harrington
Subject: 6 p.m. Boardroom – strategy review.
Just that.
No greeting. No signature.
Professional. Safe.
But she could almost hear the unspoken please come.
At six, the boardroom was empty except for him. The lights were low, the city outside already sliding into dusk.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked, closing the door behind her.
He looked up from the papers spread across the table. "Only for ten minutes."
His tone was calm, but his eyes told another story — that same impossible mix of restraint and warmth.
She walked to the far side of the table, keeping distance between them. "What do you need?"
He gave a small smile. "Honestly? I don't know. To see you, maybe."
"Alexander…"
"I know," he said, cutting her off gently. "I'm not supposed to say things like that here."
"Then don't," she whispered. "Please. I'm already… trying so hard not to make a mistake."
He leaned back, studying her — the nervous tilt of her shoulders, the way her fingers twisted together.
"You haven't made one yet," he said quietly. "And I don't intend to let you start now."
For a moment, neither moved. The silence stretched, filled only by the hum of the rain against the windows.
Finally, she drew a steady breath. "We can't keep doing this."
"I know."
But when she turned to leave, he reached out — not to stop her, only to brush his fingers against hers as she passed. The touch was light, almost nothing, but it sent a current through both of them.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said.
She nodded, not trusting her voice, and walked out into the corridor before she could lose her resolve.
Behind her, Alexander stood alone for a long moment, staring at the door she'd closed. Then he exhaled, gathered his papers, and switched off the lights.
It was only the beginning of the week.
But already, he knew: he was in far deeper than he'd ever planned to be.